


The Metro

by SwabbieJilly



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, I hope you enjoy it, more silly fluff, so silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwabbieJilly/pseuds/SwabbieJilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot out, and Erin is cranky. Holtz tries to help.</p><p>Rated for some language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Metro

**Author's Note:**

> a huge huge huuuuge thanks to the amazing and wonderful and adorable maddie for beta'ing this not once but TWICE during her hectic move. she is actually the absolute best and one of the reasons this story is almost twice as long as it was intended to be. so y'all can go to her tumblr, and go read her stories. go forth and appreciate her. i know i do.
> 
> i'm all done editing this tonight. if there's anything i missed, please let me know. i'll deal with the mistakes at a later date.

It was a smouldering hot summer afternoon in mid-August. The air in the bus was thick with humidity and humans, and Erin was cranky.

 

It was a quiet day at Ghostbusters HQ, when Erin decided she’d get a little exercise and walk the seven or eight blocks to the grocery store for a few necessities. Three blocks into her pilgrimage, Erin realized just how _freaking_ hot it was, and concluded that the walk back- with a small load of groceries no less- would be basically impossible. So rather than taking a cab, she figured she’d just take the bus back. It wasn’t so far, after all.

 

It was a mistake. There were no seats available (of course) so she was left to stand shoulder to shoulder with other cranky people on an already overcrowded vehicle. The windows were open, but the congestion of commuters stopped the fresh air just shy of Erin’s relief. She shifted her bag of groceries uncomfortably as it pulled heavy on her already aching shoulder.

 

What was _especially_  bothering her was a group of businessmen gabbing obnoxiously somewhere near the back, just quiet enough that Erin couldn't quite make out the conversation. Not that she wanted to hear anyway, but it somehow made it that much more infuriating. At least if she could hear their conversation (no doubt in poor taste and seasoned with ignorance), her agitation might possibly be justified. She tried to ignore them, but she felt her anger singe every time their wheezy laughter broke through the stale air. The sound of leg slapping and foot stomping had Erin convinced that nothing could _possibly_ be that funny in this heat.

 

Erin peered through the windows and saw her stop was next. Just as she was reaching for the button to request a stop, the bus lurched to a halt and Erin was thrown haplessly into someone's underarm.

 

Someone who apparently forgot his deodorant that day.

 

The horn of the bus blared and the driver yelled profanities out the driver side window (in true New York fashion) at the cab that had apparently cut him off. Erin clenched her jaw and shuffled away from the man she fell into, grumbling "Sorry" because _of course_ she did.

 

To which the man replied with a smirk and a wink, “Don’t worry about it at all, young lady. You are more than welcome to fall into me anytime.”

 

Erin’s anger manifested itself in uneven blotches on her chest, and high on her cheek bones. She bit back a snide remark and all but threw her grocery bags away in order to slam the button to stop as quickly as possible.

 

Unsurprisingly, the man showed no further interest in Erin after she ignored him, and less than thirty seconds later the bus decelerated as it approached her stop. Erin used the momentum to push herself toward the back door, freedom calling her name. She made it to the doors, but the lights were not on. She waved in front of the sensors wildly, and glanced between the front door and back. She watched anxiously as more people piled on in the front and wedged themselves into any available space. The front doors started to wheeze shut, and Erin was waving frantically.

 

“Bac-” Her nerves swallowed her voice, and her words came out a timid squeak. She cleared her throat as she heard the bus shift back into drive, and tried again, “Back door please!” But the bus had already departed from the curb and had re-entered traffic. Erin felt the blood drain from her face and thought for a minute she might cry. “Aw, come on!” She almost whined, looking pointedly at the driver.

 

To his credit the bus driver glanced at her through his rearview mirror, and looked at least _slightly_ apologetic.

 

Erin pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the door and listlessly pulled the cord for the next stop, the chill from the pane offering little to-

 

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice called out.

 

Erin’s body stilled for a moment before she turned her head sharply, without removing it from the door, to leer viciously at whomever had just spoke. She met the gaze of a smug looking grad student with too-large glasses and an overflowing Columbia bag placed next to him, entirely monopolizing a potentially available seat. “You’re not supposed to lean on the doors.”

 

Erin’s heart rate doubled in a second and her knuckles went white over the straps of her grocery bags. “Oh this door?” She challenged, only slightly hysterical, pushing her palm flush against the door. “Is this the one you’re talking about?” She slapped her hand against it several times, refusing to break eye-contact with the stupid, arrogant kid. “ _This_ is the door I’m not supposed to touch?!” The kid just looked away, probably in self preservation.

 

“Hey lady, do you mind?” the bus driver said while they idled at a traffic light. If Erin could have reached the guy, she would have certainly punched him.

 

“Oh, so long as _you_ don’t mind actually opening the door this time!”

 

The bus driver’s face went a little red before apparently biting back his response, and pulled the bus forward again as the traffic light changed. A block or two later they finally arrived at the bus stop with, Erin posited, a little bit more force than necessary.

 

Erin grumbled all the way back to the firehouse (a whole four blocks _further_ than she needed to walk if the driver had opened the door when he was supposed to), so the sidewalks weren’t the only thing steaming by the time she got home.

 

She opened the firehouse door roughly, and made no effort to prevent her bags from crashing into walls and doorways on her way to the kitchen.

 

The firehouse seemed quiet, and Erin guessed (hoped) that she was the only one there. That gave her the opportunity to carry on with her tantrum unabashedly.

 

The too warm milk and coffee cream were the first things she put away, and as she shut the door of the fridge carelessly, she discovered that her girlfriend had materialized in the kitchen.

 

“Jesus, Holtz!” Erin exclaimed, jumping. Her nerves were shot, and the last thing she needed was company to accidentally lash out at.

 

“Not Jesus, Jillian. _Jillian_ Holtz,” the blonde proclaimed, entirely too cheerful for Erin’s current disposition.

 

“Holtzmann please, I’m not really-”

 

“Did you get them?”

 

“Did I… What. Oh right. Holtz, I really think-” Erin could feel her anger bubbling up again, and squeezed her eyes shut to encourage a sense of calm that she was light years away from. She wanted more than anything to not go off on her precious, cheerful, happy-go-lucky girlfriend, whose antics Erin was 150% not in the mood for.

 

“Erin _please_ , this is possibly the most important thing I have, or ever will have, asked for in my entire life.” Holtz deadpanned, apparently oblivious to Erin’s temper.

 

Erin felt her composure slip and before she knew it words were tumbling out of her like a broken water vein, “I didn’t get the ones you wanted, Ok? The store that carries the brand that you want was five blocks _further_ and I already walked seven in this heat. So got the Rold Gold twists instead,” Erin said, tossing the bag of pretzels on the table to make her point, “I know you said they’re not salty enough, and that the store brand ones are better because they’re less healthy, but I wanted a smoothie from the smoothie bar, and the there’s only one grocery store that has the smoothies, but they don’t have your favourite pretzels, so I was selfish and went to the smoothie bar store, but it was pointless because the machine was broken today anyway, so I didn’t even get the smoothie that I wanted, and you didn’t the get the pretzels _you_ wanted and everything sucks and I’m sorry, and it’s _so_ hot!” Erin’s voice broke at the last word, and she discovered that she was crying. She sniffed obnoxiously, abandoned all efforts to be tranquil, and collapsed in the nearest chair with a sob.

 

Holtz stared at her bewildered. Her mouth opened and shut a few times before shoving the bag of pretzels on the floor, pulling a chair as close to Erin as possible, and folding herself over girlfriend.

 

“Fuck pretzels. Just fuck ‘em. I hate all pretzels that have ever existed, especially the soft ones.”

 

“Holtzmann,” was the muffled response, “You told me at Penn station _last week_ that you would literally kill a man for a soft pretzel.”

 

“I’m going to need you to forget I ever said that, for your own safety and mine. Anyway I’m over it. Pretzels are old news. Tell me about your smoothies.”

 

“They’re the best smoothies in the world!” It came out in a sob. Erin didn’t even know why she was still crying.

 

“Now Gilbert, don’t make such sweeping declarations. You know I’ll only ever see it as a challenge.”

 

Erin’s sobs subsided a little and she turned her head towards Holtz’s, which was very close to her, “Are you saying you’ll make me a smoothie?”

 

“Erin, I will make you a thousand and fourteen smoothies if it would make you feel even a fraction of a bit better than you feel now,” Holtz assured her, kissing her temple. Erin leaned into it, and felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

 

“Ew,” Erin said, giving a shaky little giggle, “Don’t kiss me right now; I’m all sweaty.”

 

“Oh?” Holtz said, voice low with intrigue, “I love it. You’re almost as salty as those pretzels I hate so much.” She kissed her way down Erin’s jaw in big, smacking, flourishes, earning a small giggle with each one. By the time Holtz was at her lips, Erin had stopped crying and pulled her girlfriend in close to make sure she spent extra time there.

 

When they pulled way, Erin looked at Holtzmann, “Are you seriously going to make me a smoothie right now?”

 

“Abso-fruit-ly.” Holtzmann waggled her eyebrows at Erin, “See that I did there?”

 

Turns out at some point Holtz ended up her girlfriend’s lap, so Erin stood bringing the two of them to their feet. She tugged Holtz to the counter where she deposited the fresh fruit she had bought, and described her perfect smoothie.

 

“Strawberries, blueberries, half a banana, ice, and almond milk.”

 

Holtzmann nodded attentively, and made a show of taking notes in a notepad she had produced from her breast pocket. The two gathered the remaining ingredients, and took their time chopping the berries for ideal fluidity. It wasn’t until everything was cut and washed that the two geniuses realized there was no blender in the firehouse.

 

Worried that Erin’s mood may shift again, Holtzmann quickly assured Erin that she could build one “Twenty minutes, tops”. All she required was a circular saw, a power drill motor, an empty water pitcher, and her trusty soldering iron.

 

“Ok, but I need to get changed first,” Erin insisted, squirming in discomfort. She was suddenly very aware of how her clothes clung to her in the heat. 

 

“Do I get to watch?”

 

“Holtzmann!” Erin thought about trying to sound irritated, but couldn’t be bothered. She turned her head so Holtzmann couldn’t see how much she was smiling.

 

Erin pulled Holtzmann over to her locker where she kept a change of clothes. She ditched the sun dress she was wearing (Holtz was very gracious in offering her assistance), and switched to jogging shorts and a white ribbed tank-top, with only a few minor protests from her girlfriend (“Clothes are so unnecessary. You look better naked, anyway”).

 

When she was finished, Erin presented herself, arms spread in display, “See? Much better.” She didn’t know what Holtz was complaining about, it’s not like Erin’s outfit was actually leaving much to the imagination. Minimalist as possible as far as clothes were concerned.

 

Holtzmann relished the sight, and after a moment of contemplation declared, “I can totally see your bra through that shirt.”

 

Erin’s face flushed stupidly at the observation. She feigned indifference and crossed her arms over her chest unconsciously, “So what? You see my bra all the time.” It was true, so why was Erin embarrassed in the first place?

 

After thinking on it for a moment or two, she supposed that anyone might be a little intimidated by Jillian Holtzmann’s unreserved admirations.

 

“Yeah, but this bra is my favourite. Isn’t it the maroon one with the little rip on the side? Let’s see-” Holtz started pulling at the seam of the underarm of Erin’s shirt.

 

She swatted her girlfriend’s hands away, hardly containing her amusement, “Holtzmann focus!”

 

“Right. Smoothie.”

 

They gathered the required pieces that Holtzmann listed for the blender, and regrouped in the lab.

 

Erin watched bemusedly as Holtz stripped wire, drilled, and fussed around with that rare intensity that only a select few had the privilege of witnessing. Suddenly it wasn’t just the humidity that had Erin all hot and bothered.

 

By the time they got to the soldering portion of the build, Erin had had enough.

 

“Holtz, I’d hate to see you soldering in this heat.”

 

“It’s no trouble,” the blonde replied absently, focussing on the task.

 

“Holtz, I really think you should put down the iron,” Erin asserted, placing her hand over Holtz’s.

 

“But your smoothie-” Holtzmann almost whined, lowering the tool down reluctantly. As she met Erin’s gaze, she finally caught her meaning. “Oh. _Ohhhh._ You’re not craving a smoothie anymore, are you?”

 

“Oh, I’m craving something alright.”

 

That’s all Holtzmann needed to hear. She bolted upright and tossed the soldering iron over her shoulder, yanking the cord out in one swift move.

 

“Do you think I could help you out with that, Dr. Gilbert?” 

 

“Funny you should ask because I’m pretty sure you’re the _only_ one who can help me out,” was Erin’s response, and before Holtz could reply, she was being dragged into a half-empty storage room where she kept a small cot tucked away for situations such asthese. And sleep too she allowed, but sleep was so often an afterthought for Holtz, anyway.

 

Outside the sun mercifully dipped below the horizon, and the temperature finally started to boil down to a manageable integer. Inside Ghostbusters HQ, diced fruit sat abandoned and ripening on the counter, some half assembled kitchen appliance was strewn across an already cluttered work bench, and tangled together on a repurposed firehouse cot, two scientists were lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of an ancient air conditioning unit.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so guys, i just get really cranky on public transport. this was my way of venting. I figured i'd also put a nice holtzbert twist on it so all of you lovely people can enjoy it. i should also credit ao3 user holtzified for some of erin's characterization here, especially the outburst. they pegged erin as a cancer, and anyone who knows a cancer knows how moody and emotional we can be.


End file.
